


my love for her goes on

by SafelyCapricious



Series: i put a spell on you [11]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 18:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: Water is against Skye, Trip imagines murder, and Grant would rather be stabbed.The modern-magic AU





	my love for her goes on

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is theoretically for the prompt Biospecialist- "Do you have a death wish?" from agniavateira over on tumblr. 
> 
> It's also in large part to kind comments I've gotten about this fic, and also because it's been like a year and I'm sorry. 
> 
> I really really really will finish this series. It just may take me a few more years. I know I'm the worst.
> 
> In other news, I made a playlist for this series, [here on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4TCBr2aXt91sCkMpbXu0oY). I encourage anyone to let me know what they think or if they have song suggestions.

Skye knows more about the fucked up mechanisms of the powerful magic families than she wants to, and certainly more than she’s admitted to any of her friends. Not that she doesn’t trust them. She trusts them more than anything and she trusts they’d do something stupid if they understood why she doesn’t have a last name when she knows who her parents are. 

 

To be fair, they don’t know she knows who her parents are. Which she’s never lied about, but you can say a lot by not saying anything about certain things. The point of it is that they don’t know about her family.

 

They don’t know how her parents were in love and conceived her despite the fact that her mother was engaged to a different man — a man with the appropriate pedigree to give appropriate offspring, strong offspring to carry on the line. So they don’t know about the fit her grandparents had, and how she was put up for adoption as soon as she was old enough for her grandparents to confirm that her magic was middling at best. 

 

She’d almost told them when the whole situation with Ward had started. Not that she could offer any help, but just to make them understand just how twisted his mind probably was, and how. But then she’d done her digging and decided — no, had been _convinced_ — that his feelings for Simmons were genuine. 

 

Now she knows differently. Now they all know differently. 

 

And Skye sharing her own story wouldn’t do any good anyways, so she doesn’t. 

 

But what Skye _can_ do is confront the arrogant bastard about it. 

 

He’d made Simmons cry. She is the kindest of all of them, and the most cautious with her heart and he’d broken through all of that and tried to break her. 

 

Simmons isn’t broken of course, Skye won’t allow it, and neither would any of the others. But she is hurting and Skye wants to hurt him. 

 

Not, of course, that it’s going to be possible. But Skye is too mad, right this moment, to care about that.

 

It’s a fools mission.

 

But, as she goes flying through the air, the push of magic propelling her off the porch, she realizes it’s not a fools mission for the reasons she’d first thought.

 

She barely has a moment to think she’s going to be pissed if this is how she dies before she hits water hard enough to steal the air from her lungs. Which is maybe a blessing as it keeps her from inhaling any when she’s under. 

 

It’s only seconds before the shock’s worn off and she’s fighting to the surface, getting a gasp of air, and being dragged back under.

 

She thinks for a moment there might be something actually in the lake before she remembers she’s wearing her boots and — she manages to calm down and stay above the water line long enough to see the shore, the next time she struggles up to the surface, and then she starts to swim. 

 

By the time she’s pulled herself, gasping, onto the muddy ground she’s almost forgotten how she got here. 

 

“Fuck,” she pants to herself, spread eagle and trying to catch her breath as her muscles twitch from exertion. 

 

“Fuck!” She repeats, hitting the ground with her fists, when she realizes her phone is toast, and her thought of maybe calling Jemma to warn her — or better yet, calling one of the others to check on her — is futile. 

 

“Fuck,” she repeats reverently when she remembers she took a lyft to Ward’s house and doesn’t even have a way to get back into town. 

 

She really hopes she didn’t fuck up. 

 

Because something is up. Why wouldn’t Ward have been there, before? Is someone holding his leash — and who could hold his leash? 

 

Skye has found some messed up stuff on the internet, including some theories about Ward that she never ever plans to tell anyone she read. There was a post about Ward having multiple personalities — which might explain it. She likes the theory about him being possessed more — or, rather, she liked the premise before it devolved into someone’s self-insert tentacle porn and somehow Ward being possessed equaled him having tentacles but — maybe he’s possessed by some socially stunted demon.

 

Maybe he just is a socially stunted demon.

 

None of which does her any good. Because she’s way out of town — damn the paranoid bastard and living so far from civilization — and she has to get back pronto to find out what, exactly, is happening to poor Jemma.

 

Maybe she’ll manage to figure out just what Ward’s problem is by the time she makes it back — but she doubts anyone mortal will ever figure it out.

 

***

 

Trip is so busy fantasizing about taking Grant Ward apart, slowly, piece by piece, that when the man actually pulls up in the lot that Trip is looking out into, it takes him a precious moment to realize that it’s not part of his fantasy. 

 

Regretfully he knows that destroying Ward would always only be fantasy, none of them are a match for him, even together, and rage won’t get them far at all when that’s his bread and butter.

 

For example, the Ward that strides from his illegally parked car — seriously, across three spaces and one of them the handicap space? Man has no shame — is crackling with red lighting to such a degree that Trip is surprised there aren’t char marks across the entire lot.

 

Reality, and the cup of coffee he was holding, crash and he finds himself suddenly in motion, trying to get up the stairs to Simmons before — 

 

The barrier throws him back only a foot, but the foot happens to take place _on the stairs_. 

 

So he retreats, wraps his ankle that took the brunt of the landing, and calls in reinforcements. 

 

The barrier hasn’t come down when the last of them, Skye, finally comes slopping in. 

 

“What —“ Bobbi cuts herself off with the look Skye shoots her from behind her bedraggled bangs. 

 

“Took you long enough,” Lance says, not reading the room at all. 

 

Trip resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead tosses the one rag that’s coffee stained but in easy reach at Lance — who at least has the grace to take the cue and get up to get towels, since Trip can’t walk so good right now. 

 

“Sorry,” Skye says, not sound at all sorry. “Phone died.” and she drops it on the table before dropping into one of the chairs and starting to finger comb through her hair. 

 

“Ward came storming in about an hour ago, parked like an asshole, and there’s been a barrier up since that we can’t get through. Simmons’ phone is either off or dead. And we don’t know what happened to bring him back.” Trip summarizes for her, since she obviously won’t be able to get the lengthy voice mail or series of texts for a while. 

 

“Oh,” Skye says, accepting the towels from Lance with grabby hands and immediately trying to wring her entire existence out into them. “Thats my fault, probably.” 

 

The table goes silent, but only for a second, before Bobbi is prodding her. “What did you do?” 

 

“So, I was with Simmons, and she started crying again.” Everyone grimaces. None of them handle her crying well, though the level of incompetence varies, but Trip thinks Skye might be the worst at it. “And I got mad. So I went to go yell at Ward.”

 

“Do you have a death wish?” Lance asks. 

 

Lance should never be the voice of reason, just thinking about it makes Trip’s head hurt. So he’s glad when Skye continues without so much as a break for air. “And I told him she was hurt, and then he left and his house wards threw me into a lake. I had to walk back.” 

 

“Okay,” says Bobbi after a minute of silence, “but why are you still wet?” 

 

Skye snorts and continues drying her hair. “Look outside — past the parking lot.” 

 

Lance gets up to do so, and then swears so violently that Trip is pretty sure he can see the language hanging blue in the air. Obviously that gets Fitz, who has been looking alarming thoughtful since he got there, and Bobbie up.

 

And when they swear, Trip finally leverages himself off the chair and hobbles over, ankle aching something fierce. 

 

Just outside the edge of the parking lot Trip can see rain. A lot of rain. A torrential amount of rain and also lightning. Huh. 

 

He lets his eyes focus on it for a minute and yeah, it’s definitely a magic storm, but it doesn’t seem to have a focus, just dispersed across the whole area. Minus, of course, the bubble that seems to be protecting their building. 

 

Skye wanders over. “Yeah. _That_ didn’t start immediately, and it’s definitely more serious around the shop — well, except where it’s just not happening. The bubble isn’t keeping anything out though, just the weather and —“

 

With no warning the bubble bursts, and rain lashes the window in angry gusts. They jerk back, shocked, with the sudden noise of it — and Trip swears because Ward’s car has vanished, and it definitely didn’t drive out, and he’s pretty sure that means Ward isn’t here anymore either.

 

The only question then is, where’s Simmons?

 

***

 

He thinks he’s misheard her, at first, though the ice in his veins give lie to that theory – and then she repeats it and –

 

He’s been stabbed before.

 

It hurt less than this.

 

He’d rather be stabbed again.

 

“What?” he asks, voice lost in his throat. “How?” Someone must have done something to her — done something to her and said it was because of him and — as soon as he finds out who it was he’ll kill them and — 

 

“When you left,” she says, simply, face still pressed against him and his heart stops.

 

It was him. His heart beats an irregular rhythm. Him who hurt her. His lungs ache. He hurt her. 

 

He hasn’t taken a breath, and then he does, and the air burns in his lungs and fills him with her and she’s still sour apples and warm bread and witch-hazel. His fingers card through her hair without instruction form his brain, and the scent of peaches rise up and eases something in his chest. 

 

The bitterness won’t last. It can’t. He won’t let it.

 

“I won’t leave again,” he says. And he’s not sure if it’s a promise or a threat, but it’s the truth. Because he’s not selfless enough to leave her again.

 

She had her chance to get away. She didn’t take it.

 

“Why’d you, then?” she asks, whisper soft into the skin of his neck. 

 

He uses his hands to tilt her face back so he can see her. “I thought you wanted me to,” he says. Her eyes are red and puffy and she’s still the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. “But you didn’t, did you?”

 

“No,” she says, and when she opens her mouth to say more he’s there, pouring all of himself into a kiss. 

 

And she’s returning it. Frantic. And as her taste turns from bitter witch-hazel and sour apples to cinnamon and cardamon and sharp with heat, as she pushes his jacket off his shoulders and his hands find warm skin beneath her sweatshirt he takes them away. 

 

Away from the room that still smells like tears and back to his home. 

 

He won’t let her go again. 

 

He can’t.

 

And he tells her that with his kisses and the weight of his body.

 

He’s hers and she’s his and she’s never getting away again.

**Author's Note:**

> Lets see, what else. I'm probably going to do a smut fic in this series, but I'm planning to do it so that it's completely separate from plot, so that if people don't wanna deal with that they can just avoid it. 
> 
> Also I was really frustrated with this chapter and almost brought in Will to give to Jemma at the last minute because Ward would just not let me write him. The threat seems to have worked, so I guess this is safe as a biospecialist. (Though who knows, maybe I'll do an AU of my AU and go real heavy into headcanon territory.) 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think here, or on my [tumblr](https://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/). Esp. in regards to a smut ficlet and or Will showing up and sweeping Jemma away from Ward. Or just anything.
> 
> Hi. I still live. Somehow.


End file.
